


I Will Follow You (even when you are gone)

by IzumiYuu



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bilbo Baggins-Centric, Bilbo contemplates life, Bilbo is dying, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 06:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5902267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IzumiYuu/pseuds/IzumiYuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo Baggins is near his end, and he knows it.<br/>As he spends his last moments in the Grey Havens, he starts reminiscing the adventure that he held memories of so deeply in his heart, and of a love that he never got to fulfil.</p><p>But maybe, he could do so soon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Follow You (even when you are gone)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Thank you for clicking on the link and reading this fic! This is a charcter-study-ish piece where I write about my take on Bilbo’s last moments before he passes on. Here, Bilbo refers to Thorin as his "One", which I think is a lovely way to call him his true love. I'm also suggesting that the relationship has already been (partially) established before the end of BotFA. 
> 
> Please also do forgive me for any mistakes I make writing-wise as well as fact-wise in the timeline of Middle-Earth.
> 
> And of course, all characters and original storyline belongs the wonderful J.R.R. Tolkien, and I own nothing here except the words I have written.

He lay on his bed, his old limbs long beyond able to hold his weight, and his muscles weak from age. He sighed in the peaceful quiet of the Grey Havens, enjoying the tranquility while looking upon the beautiful scenery outside the window by his bed.

 

Bilbo knew he was coming to his end. He had, after all, lived way beyond the normal hobbit years, and he could feel the life draining out of him second by second now that the Ring was gone.

 

Yes, the Ring. That which the Elf Lords and Wizards had called “The One Ring to Rule All”. The Ring that had almost brought about his dear nephew’s demise.

 

But yet when he had held it, he had no power to rule over his One’s heart, nor could he overcome the dragon-sickness that had coiled around and smothered his One until no reason could reach him.

 

He sighed again, closing his eyes, as he once more recalled the adventure he had gone on; the one adventure to Erebor that had changed him, his life and even his heart.

 

He thought of the times he spent with the Company. The dwarves. _His_ dwarves, as he liked to refer to them as in his heart.

 

(He could still name them all even with his gradually deteriorating memory. Balin, Dwalin; Bifur, Bofur, Bombur; Ori, Dori, Nori; Óin and Glóin. Fíli. Kíli. And his One—Thorin Oakenshield.)

 

He remembered the merry times in Rivendell as they wrecked havoc in Elrond’s halls. The teasing and jabbing from Kíli and Fíli on the road. Óin answering him the weirdest of ways because of something he had misheard. Bofur encouraging him and talking to him as they travelled. Shy, sweet Ori asking about Hobbit cultures and customs.

 

And he remembered the battles he had fought.

 

(How could he forget them. Even in fear, the feeling of blood rushing through his veins and his pulse ringing in his ears as his heartbeat quickened would be trumped by nothing more exciting in the whole of middle-earth.)

 

He chuckled quietly to himself as remembered the events, memories fresh as though they had just happened the day before.

 

But with the happy memories would always come the more heart-wrenching ones.

 

He thought of the many times he had tried to get Thorin out of the treasuries in Erebor, only to fail as the gleam of gold and precious jewels quickly took over his One’s mind and clouded the dwarf’s thoughts.

 

He thought of the way Balin hald secretly sobbed in grief alone in the dark, dusty libraries of Erebor as he mourned the loss of his King (his friend, his _family_ ) to dragon-sickness.

 

He remembered the fierce, piercing glare as Thorin had stormed toward him, demanding to see what was in his hand. He remembered the painful disappointment as his One plummeted deeper into the abyss of greed; the fearful, unsettled twisting in his stomach as Thorin had slipped the Mithril shirt over his head.

 

(He learned later that he was the only one who had received anything from Erebor’s treasury straight from Thorin’s hand; and that it was akin to a courting gesture in Dwarvish culture.)

 

Yet among the pain and bitterness of those times, he remembered the gentle gaze that washed over him while his One spoke to him, and how he slowly realized that such a soft look was only reserved for him, and that everyone else only received glares and furious looks.

 

He remembered how Thorin had a smile playing on his lips as he appraised Bilbo in the Mithril shirt, and how his hands (so large, warm, strong and _safe_ ) were resting on his shoulders. He recalled how he had the urge to just lean forward on his toes to reach chapped lips with his own, but held back because the rest of the Company was around.

 

He remembered the feeling of overwhelming happiness and joy as he saw Thorin leap out into battle.

 

_(Because he prevailed! He had fought and defeated the accursed, mind-warping gold-sickness!)_

And he remembered his heart stopping, his throat seizing up as Thorin crumpled to the ground after defeating Azog.

 

Ah, it still stung after so long. Ninety years did nothing to alleviate the suffocating pain in his chest when he recalled his One’s end.

 

He remembered clutching onto Thorin’s hand, praying and _begging_ for him to stay awake, to keep his eyes open, to just _stay alive._

 

_(To not go where he could not follow)_

_“Look! The eagles! The eagles are here, Thorin! Listen to me… Just list-“_

 

He remembered watching quietly as his One was lowered into his grave, the Arkenstone clutched in his hand and on his chest, over his (still, not-beating) heart.

 

He remembered not even being able to shed a tear as the rest of the Company tried to console him.

 

(The first time he let go and truly cried from grief was on his way home from Erebor, when Gandalf had questioned him about his relationship with Thorin.

_“I loved him. I still love him, but he’s gone, Gandalf. I’m all alone! I can’t even stay near the Mountain, near his grave because my heart can't take it!”)_

And so he had left for home, for the Shire. And when he could no longer take the stifling feelings in his lonesome, he decided to write his book, where he penned down all his dearest, fondest memories lest he forgot about them as he grew older.

 

More than ninety years have passed since he left Erebor, and he was now in the sacred havens of the elves he had admired for so long.

 

(But it was not where he truly wanted to be.)

 

Slowly, in the peacefulness of his room, Bilbo felt his eyelids growing heavier, and he felt that maybe, just maybe, it was finally time. He listened to the muffled voices beyond the door of his room, where Frodo was speaking in hushed tones to Samwise who had eventually turned up in the Grey Havens to be reunited with Frodo.

 

A small smile graced his lips as he leaned back into his soft pillows and slipped his eyes closed.

 

Soon, he would finally be able to follow his One.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again thank you for reading! Please do leave some criticism and I’ll try my best to improve! And also, I decided to try a different sort of writing style in this fic, and I really like it! But do feel free to feedback if it doesn't sit well with you, or if its very badly written.


End file.
